Avarice
by ScarlettWine
Summary: A Thir13en Ghosts/Ghost Ship crossover. Cyrus has returned and made Dennis part of his 'petting zoo', while also in the process of recapturing the 12 ghosts. He also captures a mysterious ghost who was a passenger on the Antonia Graza in 1962.
1. Futures Lost

"Silent in my sanity 

I live safe inside my cell

In the darkness that surrounds me

I see my own special hell

Comfort in my suffering

Feeling warm inside this pain

Four walls coming down on me

Come on down again" 

- **John Frizzell and Gabriel Mann, **My Little Box

What the--No. Please. Oh God, no. Not this again. No… 

Glass. His eyes, eyes that should no longer have been capable of seeing, saw nothing else. In front of him. On all sides. Beneath him. Boxing him in. His new home, a crystal Alcatraz. Though the ability to feel any form of temperature was long gone, his surroundings chilled him on the spot, a glacier slowly sliding atop him and suffocating him. Making him almost feel part of the glass, bound to it for eternity…

"It's about time you woke up."

Dennis Rafkin cried out and quickly sat up, practically bouncing off the ground to his feet. The voice, tinted with a darkness that could have only come from the grave, had sounded so close by; he had expected to see someone standing right next to him, watching him as he slowly began to realize where he was and had been before. Instead, he was met with a person staring at him from behind the translucent wall, Latin containment spells painstakingly etched onto it. "What…what am I…this place…" Dennis choked out, slowly shaking his head from side to side.

The Torn Prince smirked, his shadowy gray eyes without any hint of empathy for Dennis's confusion. "I don't know what he needs you for," Royce commented, "But it doesn't matter, not to me. At least you'll know how it feels now."

Dennis managed to find his voice, but now only succeeded in babbling his disoriented thoughts to an insensitive audience, "Y-You were set free! Arthur set you free, set you all free. Cyrus is dead. I saw it…The house…exploded. Nothing left…nothing…and yet I'm here…in this basement…same fucking place…trapped like you all were. And you're here…and…NONE OF THIS SHOULD BE HAPPENING!"

With a primal yell, Dennis began banging his fists on the door to his cell. There could only have been one person responsible for this, a man that, like him, should have been long vanquished from the earth. "CYRUS! Where are you, you sick fuck?! I'm not gonna let this happen again, do you hear me?! Get your sorry ass down here, bitch! I'll kick you down to Chinatown!"

Royce shook his head and sat down on his overturned hot rod, waiting until Dennis was through with his helpless outburst. It took awhile before he had tired himself out, his voice raw and aching from screaming at the top of his lungs, his hands feeling bruised from banging on the glass. Royce cleared his throat, "You of all people should know shouting isn't going to get you anywhere."

Dennis quickly turned his head to look at Royce, lips pulled back in a snarl. His words to the Kriticos family returned from a dugout in his memory. _Hey, Glass Family Robinson. You are wasting your breath. This is Ectobar glass. He's not gonna hear you. See, this is shatterproof and soundproof. _"Then why can I hear _you_ through the glass?" Dennis countered, "I mean, shit, it sounds like we're in the same room."

Royce ran his good hand, the one that still had all its fingers, through his greased jet-black hair. His voice had been edged with disdain from the first words he spoke to Dennis, but it became even more apparent when he was forced to explain the situation, "It's only soundproof to mortals…for the most part any way." He gave the panting Dennis a sneer, recalling his flawless swings missing Dennis's head because the moronic diva nanny directed him when to duck, from the other side of the glass. "But as for us, we can listen in on everything from one side of the basement to the other. And since the floors are made mostly of glass, we could hear anything that goes on in the whole house. Just gotta strain your ears hard enough."

For the first time, Dennis noticed that the other cells were empty. It was just him and Royce in the dungeon. "Where's all the other freaks?"

Royce's glare deepened. "On the run, and much better off than we are. But it's only a matter of time."

Dennis swallowed hard, trying to calm himself with deep breaths. He remembered his death very clearly, mangled in the Juggernaut's indestructible grip, his body snapped in half like a twig. He had willingly sacrificed his life for Arthur's, himself playing the role of the real Thirteenth Ghost. He remembered watching, with pleasure, while Cyrus wriggled and screamed as the twelve spirits grabbed him and launched him into the Ocularis, his fate strikingly similar to that of The Torso; all that was left of him were grisly fragments of what had once been a fearsome man that the world didn't know to be afraid of. Dennis had watched Arthur leaping into the eye to rescue his kids as the machine short-circuited and the house exploded around them. The last image he could conjure up was Jean appearing before her family to tell them she loved them one last time. Then…nothing. There had to be something after that, somewhere he had gone. Cyrus couldn't have regenerated the house so quickly. In truth, Cyrus shouldn't have been able to do _shit_, considering the state he was in.

Dennis looked up at Royce again, who was now holding his baseball bat, meticulously examining the scratched wooden surface, testing it in his hands, as though his fascination with it would never end. "How?" Dennis asked, hoarsely.

Royce wouldn't look at him, still staring down at his bat, "How what?"

"How. Did. It. Happen." Dennis asked impatiently. He winced slightly as his gaze dropped to Royce's bat and put a hand to his head. The wound still felt wet and even the blood still felt warm as it trickled down the side of his face and neck. Royce didn't respond. Dennis gritted his teeth, becoming more annoyed. He was in a situation that he couldn't even begin to understand and the only person who perhaps knew what was going on was turning into a mute. "I'm fucking serious, man," Dennis muttered darkly, taking a step towards the glass barrier between them, "I don't have time for this bullshit. Just answer me a few questions, kid. That's it. If Cyrus is back, we don't need to waste time standing around and jerking each other off. Just fuckin' talk to me!"

Royce scowled and threw down his bat. A few sparks kicked up as it hit the inscriptions on the glass, making them light up like a Vegas sign for a split-second. He didn't trust Dennis. He could not forget the fact that Dennis had helped Cyrus in capturing them all. A Devil's Advocate, of sorts. The greedy bastard did it all for money that he would never get his hands on. Royce couldn't deny being pleased at Dennis getting a taste of his own medicine, but because Dennis knew Cyrus best, he could be perhaps be most effective in defeating him, knowing his weaknesses if he had any. Royce shook his head, "Of course Cyrus is back. Who else could have pulled all this off? He's going to catch us all again, all twelve of us. He's at a disadvantage though…he doesn't have you around any more to assist him. Or Kalina what's-her-face for that matter. But he seemed to find me pretty fast, regardless." Royce sighed. On second thought, it had been so long since he'd really had someone to talk to. Even if Dennis had been the enemy. The more he talked, the more he wanted to tell. "I had just gotten back to my old ball field and everything. I could see my school. God…it had changed so much. And I started thinking, you know…about my parents, my friends…my girlfriend Tabitha…Tabby…and where they all were now. It had been too long, they can't still be thinking about me. And I thought, they've all forgotten. Another senseless tragedy, but life goes on. I'll bet they don't even look back anymore and think 'what if'. They have their own troubles to worry about. There weren't even any flowers on my grave. I stood there for a long time, letting it all settle in. There was nothing left for me there. How can I still be here when there's nothing left for me?" 

Royce suddenly paused for a moment, his eyes now filled with unfathomable sorrow. Dennis blinked, staring at the younger man. He hadn't expected Royce to start pouring his heart out, but who knew how long he'd been trapped here in the basement by himself. He was sure if he had been Royce, jailed in this glass hellhole again when he thought he would be free, he would have gone as crazy as The Jackal on a good day. "Hey, it's alright…I can understand. I mean, I don't know what the hell I'm here for either…"

Royce jerked his head up, glaring, "Don't you dare pity me. It's not going to help me or make me feel better, so why bother? You wanted to hear what I had to say and I'm obliging, so shut your hole and listen." Dennis was taken aback for a moment, but wanted him to continue, so he gave him a quick nod. Royce's features softened, almost looking as though he were sorry for sounding so harsh, but he made no move to apologize. He stared back down at his hands. "Well…all of a sudden, I got this horrible feeling. Like this drop in my stomach. The feeling you get when you know something's…coming for you. The fight-or-flight kind of feeling, I guess. And then I heard those chants again, those damned chants. They were all around me, I couldn't escape. I kept looking around, nobody was there, but I kept hearing them. They got louder and louder. I told myself I wouldn't obey them, I was stronger than that. I stood my ground for as long as I could, but it wasn't long enough. That's when everything went black."

"What happened after that?" Dennis implored quietly.

"A lot of darkness," Royce said, "I woke up again in my cell. It was all just as I'd left it. My sweetheart was still here." He ran his hand over one of the wheels on his car, spinning it. "At least when you woke up, there was someone else here. I woke up alone. But I wasn't quite alone. There were these voices upstairs. One of them was Cyrus. I'd know that bastard's voice anywhere. He was talking to this other guy, but I had no idea what he was saying. Some kind of foreign language. But it was horrible to listen to. I mean, I'm always angry, ticked at the world for what happened to me, but this was…his voice made me want to kill, just inflict pain on anything it would get a reaction out of. I can't explain it, but just the thought of doing something like that made me feel powerful. I-I don't know…neither of them have been back since. I didn't even hear them before or after you showed up here."

Dennis took this all in, nodding, "Okay…alright…and where do the Kriticos's fit in on this?"

Royce frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, they're his family. And you said he's re-capturing everyone, which means he's going to re-capture Jean. Is he bringing them back to relive the nightmare or what?"

Royce let out a shaky laugh, "Oh yeah, he mentioned the Kriticos's…and how he took care of."

Dennis's eyes widened, "Took care of them?"

"Apparently, Cyrus arranged for a little bad luck to come their way. It was all over the papers. Their apartment building caught on fire, for reasons the ol' experts still haven't zeroed in on yet. They were the only ones who didn't escape, everyone else in the building at the time escaped. Mysterious, ain't it? But what a tragedy. Can't you hear the community weeping now?" Royce rolled his eyes.

Dennis exploded, "Oh, fuck you," he bellowed, so loudly that Royce flinched. "FUCK YOU, pal! GO TO HELL! What gives you the gall to say that, like they didn't matter?! They were good people! They didn't deserve any of this! Cyrus came into their lives and fucked everything up beyond recognition. _I _wanted to help them, and they, in turn, tried to help you. You fucking ungrateful…They're the only reason you even got a little fucking taste of freedom!" Dennis took another deep breath after his second outburst, his heart aching so badly for Arthur and Maggie, Kathy, Bobby…wiped out by Cyrus and his demented plan. And then this little smartass, speaking so condescendingly of the people who set him and the others free. He could only hope the Kriticos's were in a far better place than this. Perhaps they were even with Jean. Dennis closed his eyes and turned away from Royce, who was gaping at him, and angrily knuckled away a few tears that had fallen past his eyelids.

"Look…I'm sorry," Royce muttered, not sounding too convincing in his apology. "They were amateurs. They didn't know what they were doing. They gave us all false hope. Yeah, so they released us. Big deal. It's not like it was going to last, they had to know that. "

Dennis spun around, the look in his eyes spewing hatred. He no longer cared if Royce saw him cry. He was going to get his point across, by God. "Of course they didn't know that, asshole! How would they have fucking known that Cyrus could come back? They saw him killed just like I did. Shit, _I _didn't know it could happen. Sounds like something out of a slasher flick, the killer coming back for one more sequel! And you're missing the point entirely! You're too busy feeling so sorry for yourself and what happened to you…"

"And why shouldn't I?!" Royce shouted back, "You read my file, you know just about everything about me. I was at the top of my game. I had colleges I hadn't even heard of kissing my ass, begging me to play for their team. Everything I could ever want was right in front of me, I just had to reach out and take it."

"But you thought you could put it on hold," Dennis replied, his voice strangely calm now, dripping with sarcasm, "One night was all it took for Boy Wonder to lose it all. And we all know you were just so used to getting what you wanted…and what a tragedy it was when you didn't get it."

Royce looked genuinely hurt. He turned away from Dennis, now being the one to turn his back. "You were the one complaining I had no sympathy. Where's yours now, Mr. Fucking Compassion?"

Before Dennis could even think to respond, a flash of blue-green light momentarily flooded his vision. And then it was gone, a phantom aurora. Apparently, Royce had noticed it too. "What the hell was that?" he said, asking himself more than he was asking Dennis. He began looking around him, something catching his eye as he glanced to his right. All thought of continuing their little debate vanished from his mind and a glimmer of fear crossed his face. It was their newest arrival. But it certainly wasn't another of the members of the Black Zodiac. "Oh shit…we've got company…"


	2. Peace Is Elsewhere

"If you should go skating

On the thin ice of modern life

Dragging behind you the silent reproach

Of a million tear-stained eyes

Don't be surprised when a crack in the ice

Appears under your feet

You'll slip out of your depth and out of your mind

With your fear flowing out behind you

As you claw the thin ice…"

- **Pink Floyd, **The Thin Ice

Dennis turned his head to look in the cell across from him, fearing the worst. Instead, he saw nothing he had expected to see. It was a girl, her flesh like pure ivory, her fragile body lying motionless on the glass floor. She was soaking wet, and a pool of bloody water had begun slowly spreading around her form. Dennis frowned, then looked to Royce, "Am I missing something? Who is she? You ever seen her before?"

"No, never," Royce replied, just as bewildered.

Within seconds, the girl began to stir. A sudden spasm went through her petite hands, folded over her stomach, and her fingers shook uncontrollably for a few seconds, making her diamond ring, which appeared to be one of the engagement sort, glimmer in the sparse light. Her eyes abruptly flew open and she inhaled deeply, a look of horror on her ashen face. She inhaled again, as though she could not get enough air into her body, and promptly went into a coughing fit. Quickly, she rolled over onto her stomach, choking and gasping as black blood and seawater poured from her mouth.

The two could only gawk in both disgust and ruefulness as convulsions wracked the girl's shoulders, forcing out the contents of her lungs for the past forty years. After a few minutes of retching, she ceased and let out a weak sigh, lifting herself up off her stomach and into a sitting position. Glancing back at what she'd just puked up, the girl herself cringed and wiped some traces of blood off her florid lips. This was going to take some getting used to. It was the first time she had been exposed to oxygen in decades. Closing her eyes, she ran a hand through her tangled raven tresses and began squeezing water out, shivering a little as the droplets ran down her back. 

While it had been a less than grand entrance, Royce found himself unable to take his eyes off the mystery girl, intrigued by the apparition before him. He found himself completely apathetic to the fact that she wasn't even supposed to be here, that her being here could be dangerous. Instead, he slid off his hot rod, without the slightest hesitation, and walked up to the glass. Knocking lightly to get her attention, he waited until she opened her eyes before he spoke. "Hey…are you alright?" he questioned gently.

She looked to him and nodded slowly, expressionless. Her blue-gray eyes were shining extraordinarily bright, like gemstones in a dark tunnel; but the gleam did not come from vitality or a mischievous nature. It was the look of someone who was about to burst into bitter tears. Heaving another sigh, she pulled herself off the ground to her feet, a bit unsteady in her high heels. She went to hold onto the wall for balance, so she could remove her burdensome shoes, when her fingers brushed against the containment spells. They lit up at her touch, making her jump back in surprise. After a pause, she moved up again to examine the letters, poking at the script with her long fingernails. The writing felt warm to the touch and gave her a bit of a shock, as though they were electrified. Not exactly a pleasant feeling. She tried to keep her balance standing on her own, removing one shoe at a time and tossing them into the corner of her cell. Then, swallowing hard, she hugged her arms to her chest and stared around the room, taking in her new surroundings morosely. From one glass prison to another. She had expected this, expected Jack to take her somewhere else after the ghost vessel finally sank, but why here? And where was he now?

Royce watched her with an interest that went beyond just curiosity, while racking his brain for something to else to say to her. It was the way she had looked at him just a few moments before, her eyes swimming with tears, that made him desperately want to reach out to her, make her feel better. He wanted to see a _real_ smile from her. But nothing came to him, and for fear of saying the wrong thing, he remained silent. He didn't want to keep watching her and staring at her like this; she'd probably get annoyed or creeped out. But he couldn't help it. Even in death, in her drowned and bloody state, she was a beautiful sight, and beauty had remained so obscure to him. He couldn't really remember the last time he had seen something that could be deemed _beautiful_.

Dennis also kept silent, for once, as he examined the girl, trying to decide the best way to go about this. Her presence was a tortured one, that was for sure. More so than any ghost he had seen before. She was a bit nervous, jumpy like a rabbit, and looked very upset about being here. _Join the club, honey_ he thought to himself. Still, he could see why Royce was so captivated at first sight. She was young, about his own age maybe, and reminded him of a china doll with her long black hair, delicate features, and pale skin. She was clad in a sleeveless powder blue evening gown, made of flimsy lace. Very European looking, but hardly modest. A provocative slit on each side revealed her legs all the way up to her mid-thigh, despite the gown falling to her ankles. It was probably a good thing that ol' Ryan wasn't here. He would probably have a fit. Still, for Dennis at least, the alluring illusion was ruined by the battered state she was in. It must have been really something, what the girl had been through. Various places on the gown were ripped and slashed. Her exposed legs were covered in bruises and lacerations. And though there was no denying that she met her death at the hands of the sea, Dennis was surprised her most distinct wound didn't kill her first: a knife gash just above her stomach, miniscule but deep. If she had not drowned, she would have most assuredly bled to death; blood was smeared all across her stomach and down the front of the gown.

The visible anguish in her smoky eyes and the inconceivable aura of regret that engulfed her reminded Dennis immediately of another tortured beauty, Dana Newman. But yet, this girl was no Dana Newman. There was something about her, Dennis decided, that told him she hadn't always been this way. As great as her sorrow was now, it hadn't always been interred so deep within her. She was probably very happy at one time, loved and in love, judging by the massive sparkling rock on her finger. But something must have happened, some ill-advised action she took that blew up in her face. That's how it always seemed to be: in one way or another, every ghost was partly to fully responsible for their own downfall.

His thoughts were halted when a familiar voice echoed from the floor above them. "I appreciate you bringing her here for me. It must have been quite a hike, coming here all the way from the Bering Strait…"

"Cyrus!" Dennis exclaimed wrathfully.

The girl whipped around to face Dennis. "Shhh!" she said, glaring and motioning for him to shut the hell up if he knew what was good for him.

"He's come back again…" Royce muttered, staring up and straining his ears to listen to every detail.

Another man answered him, but not the one Royce had heard the other day. "Oh, think nothing of it," he replied sarcastically.

The girl drew her breath in sharply, recognizing the other man's voice. Dennis turned to her, "Friend of yours?"

She frowned and shook her head, her gaze never leaving the ceiling, "Hell no…" she murmured. She spoke with a slight, lilting accent. "He is to me what Cyrus is to you."

The other man, the one the girl knew, continued, "Look, can't we make some sort of deal? Management doesn't have to know. Just give Monica back to me and we can work something out to where I can—"

"No deal, Jack. I hear you're not very good at keeping them. And anyway, where would you store her? The Graza is resting at the bottom of the strait now. You're lucky you were able to get away with keeping her with you as long as you did."

Jack growled, "You don't understand, old man. It took me forty years to collect all those souls. And then, just because I made a mistake, purely unintentional by the way, I have to start over again with a bigger weight on my shoulders than before? Well that's bullshit. I don't have time for that."

Cyrus laughed, "Don't blame me for your misfortune, my friend. Whether it was unintentional or not, it was still an error on your part. A particularly grievous one. Really now, how could one so eminent be outsmarted by a mere woman and a pesky little girl? I hope now you see that management will not tolerate your failure again. Nor will they tolerate you trying to cheat and cut corners around their guidelines…"

"I may not look it, but I've been around much longer than you," Jack said, fuming. "No matter what management says, it was a good idea. I snagged Monica before the ship went down because I knew she would get me to my new goal faster. She'd help me in capturing more souls, I was all she had left. Once I broke her spirit and her heart, she would've done anything for me."

Dennis and Royce shared a look upon hearing Jack's words, then glanced to Monica. Still gazing at the ceiling, her expression bore an extra edge of torment and anger. Everything he said was true. She had always known she was nothing more than a subordinate, one of his sacrificial pawns, but actually hearing him proclaim it, in front of people she didn't even know; that was different. She hoped she wasn't bearing evidence of her extreme humiliation at the moment, but the sudden heat she felt as her face flushed told her that she was.

"Yes, well, I was not allowed any unfair advantages in using my own little secret weapon: Mr. Rafkin. And you shouldn't have that benefit either. You'll just have to learn to accept it, as I did." Dennis scowled at the mention of his name, cursing Cyrus under his breath. If Cyrus could hear the on-goings of the ghosts downstairs, he didn't let on that he could. "You know Jack, you may be more experienced than I am in these sort of affairs, but you have much maturing to do. In mind, I believe you are still young and don't understand when you have your…toys suddenly taken away from you. In time, you'll see this is for your own good, keeping her here. We can't have you tempted to use her again, now can we? You have nothing to worry about, however. She's in good hands…"

With that, the voices ceased. Monica was the first to speak afterwards, her tone cold and steel-edged. "So that's what this is about. A business transaction."

Dennis groaned. It appeared Cyrus wasn't the only lunatic who liked making ghosts his prisoners. "Look…Monica…" he interjected with a sigh, "I know it's probably something you don't like talking about, let alone thinking about, but you've got to give us the 411 on this guy, Jack."

Monica ignored him, closing her eyes and rubbing her left temple. It didn't surprise her at all, that Jack would allow this to happen, but it still hurt all the same. Jack _was_ all that she had left; she hated him with a fury she never knew rested inside her, yet she depended on him and feared him. He decided whether she remained on earth or was finally taken down to hell, where her sins of malice condemned her. And it was up to him whether or not she saw James again. He had _fucking_ promised her, as the Graza sank from beneath them, that if she continued to help him, he would make her dream a reality. But he had yet to make good on that promise, and now it looked like he never would. Like so many others before, he had planted the seed of hope in her, waiting for it to grow until he wrenched it out of her grasp. And now James would never know…

Voices saying her name brought her mind back to the present. Dennis glowered at Monica, who still looked to be off in her own little world, lost in her thoughts. "Fuck it," he mumbled to Royce. "I'm not dealing with this again. Anyway, you heard what they said. Cyrus is just keeping her here for now, she doesn't have anything to do with us or the Ocularis. Fuck getting involved with this, let's just worry about ourselves."

"How can you say that?" Royce muttered back, "If the time comes that we're able to escape, we're not leaving her here."

Dennis sighed, "Look, I know it's a blunt way of dealing with things, but if she won't talk, that's how it's going to be."

"She's just upset. We have to keep pressing her though, this guy Jack could be dangerous. We still don't know the extent of his power. She'll talk, don't worry," Royce insisted. He looked back to Monica, who was beginning to pace the length of her cell like a restless panther.

"Oh then by all means, work your magic, Casanova," Dennis jeered.

Royce paused to give Dennis an icy stare before he looked to Monica, still pacing. He spoke as gently as he had the first words he spoke to her, "Monica, please talk to us. We could be here for awhile. And we haven't even been properly introduced yet. I—"

He paused in mid-sentence when she quickly turned to look at him. He'd finally gotten her attention. Royce smiled, but Monica didn't return the friendly gesture. The tears in her eyes earlier had been seemingly extinguished by a conflagration of flames that now emanated from her gaze. "I…don't give a fuck…who either of you are," she said slowly, every word sopping with a venom that vanquished Royce's smile in a matter of seconds. Monica placed one hand on her hip, looking between the two of them, "You think I'm gonna talk? I say, ha! What's the farthest thing I want from my mind right now? All you have to do is look at me, what I've become. That is the extent of Jack Ferriman's power. If you saw me before all of this, you would not recognize me." She shook her head in disgust, "You think you're going to be so clever, finding a way out of this. Stop kidding yourselves. In life, you may have had freedom, but that changes in death. They'll do with you what they want. They may let you get away for a little while, make you think you're safe, but then they pull you back again. It's senseless to hope for peace. Rest in Peace…what a cruel joke. There is no peace."

Giving them one last crestfallen look, she turned on her heel and retreated to a dark corner of her cell where she could weep alone, kneeling down onto the floor, careful not to touch the walls. Both Royce and Dennis found themselves unable to speak, contemplating her soliloquy of despair and both thinking the same thing: what if she was right?


End file.
